


Red Means Go

by JolieFolie



Category: Actor RPF, Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sherlock (TV) RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sarcasm, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, self-depricating humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JolieFolie/pseuds/JolieFolie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman accidentally runs into Benedict Cumberbatch. They flirt and he asks her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bandicoot Cheddarcheese

**Author's Note:**

> I considered making this a Sherlock fic until I realized the plot has nothing to do with Sherlock. Or Star Trek. I basically just wanted Benedict Cumberbatch, that's all. I don't write or read RPFs unless it's an emergency... and I tend to have a lot of emergencies, come to think of it... Plus, I've already written one other RPF, so I'm already going to hell for contributing to that squick. So I told myself, cut the bullshit and just call it a RPF.
> 
> This fic is 100% the fabrication of my imagination and the product of procrastination. I have never met Benedict Cumberbatch. I barely know any British people. I've never been to Europe. I'm sitting in bed right now with 22% remaining on my laptop. Don't sue me! :D

At 3:07 on a Saturday afternoon, Marcie’s heart stopped.

It had been so long since she’d been this close to such a beautiful creation. Since she’d been able to run her hands all over…

It was silk. It was red. Too bad it cost more than what she made in a month.

When Marcie wanted to chill out, she liked browsing the shops in the nicest area of town and wondering what her life would be like if she could buy designer dresses the way mere mortals buy tubes of toothpaste.

Actually, that reminded her, she needed to pick up toothpaste -- she’d been squeezing the life out of her current tube for over a week. And it was cinnamon. She didn’t even like cinnamon, but it had been on sale and toothpaste falls under the category of essentials, so…

Wait, is it an essential? Don’t some people use baking soda?

God, here she was, standing around in a department store, practically groping a dress she’d never be able to afford, never be able to wear, never have any place to wear it to. And she was thinking about baking soda.

The store was loaded with security, but it was December in New York City which meant it was cold enough to wear her only but lovely, knee-length coat (that was ancient but still classic – gotta love vintage) over her otherwise plain outfit and still clean up reasonably well enough to not get escorted out of the store for clearly not being able to afford even one designer sock.

Marcie had never actually tried anything on, however, for fear that a sales associate would sweet talk her into actually maxing out her credit cards on one dress, and then spending next month’s rent on a pair of shoes.

_If you give a mouse a cookie… he’ll want a pair of Manolo Blahniks…_

No, better not risk it. Marcie was allergic to risk the same way some kids are allergic to peanuts.

Yes, if you took a risk at home, didn’t brush your teeth, and then walked into school later that morning, Marcie would go into total anaphylactic shock.

It was that serious.

Marcie was trying to convince herself to put the dress back on the rack, when all of a sudden someone briskly walked by behind her. She didn’t want to be rude and turn around to look at the person, but she could tell it was a guy – no, a man – by the way he smelled. Was that cologne or soap or just human? Whatever it was, he smelled delicious.

No no no, _it_ smelled delicious. _Come on, Marcie, at least wait to see what he looks like before you mentally undress him._

The man was standing all the way over on the other side of the aisle before Marcie snuck a peek over at him. She couldn’t see his face, but he was seriously tall. Despite the fact that he was wrapped up oh-so-cozily in a wool coat and scarf, she could still tell he was lean. His dark hair curled around his ears in a way that made her forget all about her heartbreak over the dress.

Wo-wo-wo – wait. Why was he in the women’s clothing section?

_He’s married, Marcie. Get the hell back down to earth, you horny son of a –_

No – wait! No wedding ring!

“Ha!” Marcie laughed triumphantly under her breath.

Oh shit, he was looking up at her. Marcie ducked her head down. _No, I’m not laughing at a dress. That’s not what normal people do._

Marcie placed the dress back on the rack. Her hand was just about to leave the lush fabric of the hanger when suddenly the face she had seen for a millisecond registered in her brain.

Oh my God, it was… a guy who looked exactly like Benedict Cumberbatch.

Meh, close enough.

Because there was no way it actually was him. What the hell would he be doing in New York City? There was no way she was going to steal another peek to verify his identity and risk creeping out this poor stranger.

_Marcie, let go of the hanger, exit the store, and go home. Put some ice on your head._

Damn, she’d have to put some ice on her vibrator when she got through with it tonight.

She turned around to book it out of the store. At that moment, a sales associate must have approached the man, because this impossibly sensual baritone voice asked, “Does this come in red?”

Marcie froze. Okay, so it was a stranger who looked exactly like Benedict Cumberbatch. And sounded exactly like Benedict Cumberbatch. And smelled exactly like –

Well, she didn’t know what he was supposed to smell like. But, like, you’d think he would smell good. Just a fucking hunch.

Marcie tried to clear her head. Deep breath in, deep breath –

The scent of him filled her again.

“Were you thinking of getting that?”

Marcie jumped a million feet into the air, got bitch-slapped by God, and crashed back down to earth.

The man laughed a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to say, that color would suit you.”

Marcie gulped, her eyes darting back and forth from the dress and back to his face.

Yup. It was definitely him.

Fuck.

“Oh, uh, no. I don’t know. It’s nice, but…” _But I can’t afford it._ “But I don’t think it would fit.”

Benedict’s eyebrows darted up for just a second. “Really?” He analyzed the dress before looking at her again. “Have you tried it on?”

“No.”

A slow smile played out on his face, as if he was teasing her: _then how do you know it doesn’t fit, hmm?_

Marcie’s face flushed. God, she’d just met the man, and they were already communicating telepathically. Things were moving fast.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?” The sales associate flew up to them. Well, not them. Just Benedict. The associate was acting like Marcie wasn’t even there.

“Yes.” Benedict plucked the hanger from the rack and presented it to the associate. “One change room for this young lady, please.” He traded the dress for the red scarf the associate had brought for him. “Thank you so much.”

The associate whisked the dress into her grasp and glanced at Marcie. “What is your name, please?”

“Marcie.” Her voice almost sounded flat, she was so shocked. She was already working hard to look like she belonged in that department store, now she had to put in even more effort to avoid looking like a rabid fangirl.

“Marcie?” Benedict said, smiling at her.

Marcie smiled back, but the associate was already flying over to the change rooms. Marcie quickly followed her, turning her head back to look at Benedict. “It’s Marcella, but everyone calls me Marcie.”

“Are you Italian?” he called, projecting his voice as the associate forced Marcie to put more distance between her and Benedict.

Marcie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, nodding.

The sales associate unlocked a change room door and put the dress on a hook inside. “My name is Crystal, if you need anything.”

“And my name is Benedict,” he called out.

“I know,” Marcie said, her face overheating, in a voice that she wasn’t sure he was able to hear. She quickly shut the change room door behind her, collapsing against the wall once she had her privacy.

Holy shit. Okay. Assess the situation.

_I didn’t look like a complete psychopath. One point._

_I didn’t accidentally burp. Two points._

_I’m going to have to explain to Crystal that I don’t actually want this dress. Minus five points from Gryffindor._

God, she wanted so desperately to have a conversation with him. She could’ve probably earned a Ph.D. by now if she added up all the hours she’d spent fantasizing about him.

_Wow, I really suck at time management._

She knew she could work up the courage to ask for an autograph, or a picture, or a DNA sample, if she tried. But she just…

She knew what it was like to receive unwanted attention.

She held up the dress to her body. It was nearly impossible to find clothes that fit her chest and hips. It was like clothing manufacturers were in denial about what some women’s bodies look like.

_I’m evolutionarily built to give birth a ton of times and then make sure all those babies don’t starve. Do you really think I want my clothes straight up-and-down?_

Living in New York City, with so many people – so many men – packed into the streets every day only exacerbated things. The unwanted attention wasn’t even the worst part. No, the worst part was having no fucking clue what strangers wanted from you. Were they grabbers? Serial murderers? Secretly filming you? Marcie’s skin itched.

She hardened her mouth into a line and tried not to think about it.

What she wouldn’t give to meet a man who was kind. Who was contemplative and intellectual. Who was a gentleman.

Well, a gentleman in most cases. Just not in the bedroom.

The fabric of the dress caressed her skin, just like she knew it would. The dress fit, thank God – it was a little too tight in the chest, but what else was new.

 _I never want to make anyone feel the way I do when strangers act entitled to me._ If that meant basically ignoring her favorite actor ever when he was right in front of her face, then so be it.

“How are we doing?” Crystal chimed from the other side of the door, jerking Marcie out of her thoughts.

“Good!” Marcie squeaked.

“Can I take a look? Just to see if we need to take it in or let it out anywhere.”

“Oh, sure.” Marcie opened the door, trying not to panic. Now Crystal thought she was able to afford getting the dress fitted, too? How long could Marcie keep up this charade?

“That looks beautiful on you, dear,” Crystal said, gently pulling Marcie’s arm so she would turn around.

Marcie glanced down at the floor. “Actually, on second thought, I think –”

Crystal clapped her hands together and exclaimed, looking past Marcie’s shoulder.

A warm hand cupped Marcie’s bare shoulder from behind and a matching hand presented a pair of black, three-inch heel stiletto pumps in front of her.

Marcie turned around to face the owner of the hands. Benedict’s smile washed over her and she forgot how to breathe. She accepted the shoes. “How did you know my size?”

“I don’t. I just got you a pair of size fourteens so you’d look ridiculous. I love the clown look.”

Marcie erupted in giggles, quickly clasping her hand over her mouth. Oh my God, he was funny. This wasn’t fair.

She glanced at the soles of the shoes. They were a size seven.

Meh, close enough.

Marcie tried to balance on one foot as she manoeuvered the first shoe onto her foot.

“For heaven’s sake, let’s get you a chair.” Benedict dashed over to the side of the room faster than Crystal could to retrieve an upholstered seat. He placed it swiftly behind Marcie and gestured for her to sit.

“Thank you.” Marcie sat down in what she hoped was a graceful fashion, smoothing her dress over her legs with one hand. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this attentive. Other than Crystal. But she was getting paid. She didn’t count.

Benedict stared at the first shoe which Marcie was struggling with. “They’re too small.”

“No, it’s fine.” Marcie shoved her heel into the shoe. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she had fat feet.

“Allow me.” He knelt down in front of her and cupped the heel of her other foot. Marcie tried not to gasp as his bare hand connected with her skin.

His touch was so comforting. Although she was on the brink of having a panic attack, she couldn’t help but relax internally. _Kinda feels like I’m floating…_

She glanced down at her lap and realized her knees were a fraction of an inch apart. Quickly, she pressed them firmly together. She was being treated like a lady, so she had to sit like a lady. _Get your shit together, Marcie._ She checked Benedict’s face in case he’d noticed.

He was already making eye contact with her. “How do they feel?”

“The…? Oh, the shoes. They’re…”

Benedict stood up and offered her his hand. Marcie almost didn’t know what to do at first, but then her cerebral cortex said: _bitch, take his hand!_

Standing right in front of him like this, even with an extra three inches, she couldn’t get over how tall he was. She wobbled a bit on the heels; Benedict kept his hand around hers, making sure she didn’t lose her balance.

His eyes were too much. She glanced away, her gaze landing on her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the change room door. She skimmed her gaze down her body, noting all the usual stuff, and then –

Oh my God, you could totally see the outline of her thong. What the fuck was the point of a thong if it still gave you panty lines? Marcie slipped her hand out of Benedict’s, ducking her head and blushing. _I may as well be wearing oversized long johns._

The dress was beyond nice, yes, but only if you could get away with not wearing a bra and underwear. Which was going to happen, like, never.

She checked Benedict’s face again. If he had noticed the serious fashion faux pas, he gave no indication. Then again, he was a brilliant actor, so who really knew, right?

Marcie was so fucked.

“Walk for me.” Benedict said softly, nodding with his head in the direction in front of them. Marcie waited in case he had anything else to say, such as a rationale for his command.

He folded his arms in front of him and placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin. Marcie realized he was waiting for her, too.

 _So he just, like, doles out commands like Halloween candy?_ Marcie wasn’t used to being bossed around by someone so beautiful. It was kind of…

_Stop stop stop, before you ruin the dress with sweat stains. You can’t buy this, remember? Time to give up the charade._

Marcie turned around and took a step. _I’ll take one more step and then I’ll confess._

Several steps later, she found herself almost at the mirrored wall several yards away. As she walked, she felt her hips sway and the tops of her breasts bounce slightly above their prison. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath, scolding herself. She’d been staring at the floor, trying to keep her balance, and she tugged her gaze up to Benedict’s reflection in the huge mirror. His gaze wasn’t fixed on her feet, and it wasn’t on the back of her head either. Holy shit, where was he looking? No way.

When she turned around, he adjusted his gaze so he was looking at her face. “It suits you. It really – do you have an occasion in mind?”

Marcie sighed. “No. Actually, I was just kind of fantasy shopping.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Fantasy shopping?”

Marcie gulped. Oh God, had she used one of her silly terms again? Why didn’t she just say ‘browsing’ like a normal person? “Yeah, you know, you fantasize about something you really want, and – ” _Shut up now. Get out while you’re alive._ Her face threatening to burn off from embarrassment, she booked it to the change room.

Benedict took only a few long strides and met her at the door. “Do you see something you want?”

She was held captive by his iridescent gaze until she forced herself to bow her head. “Excuse me. Sorry.” She ducked into the change room and shut the door.

“How are we doing?” Crystal called out.

Marcie tried discreetly to sniff back the fluid that was suddenly in the back of her nose. “I changed my mind.”

“Dear, that dress was made for you,” Crystal said. Presumably addressing Benedict, she added, “Didn’t she look beautiful?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Marcie slipped out of the dress as quickly as she could without ripping it. “Sorry.” _Sorry I don’t belong here, sorry I wasted your time, sorry…_

She flew out of the door with her clothes and coat back on. She handed the dress and shoes to Crystal. “Thank you,” was all she managed to say. If she said any more, she’d start crying, and she’d die if that happened. She at least had to wait until she was on the bus. Now that she was out of those heels, she was able to practically run to the exit.

“Wait.” Benedict chased after her.

Marcie reached the exit, the fading winter sunlight streaming through the glass doors. She was almost out of there.

His long legs allowed him to catch up with her just in time. “Hey.” He reached out to touch her elbow. “Are you all right?”

Marcie looked up at him, certain her eyes were already red even though she hadn’t allowed one tear to fall. “I don’t belong here. I can’t spend money on this stuff.” She swallowed. She hated talking about money. “I’m late. I have to go.”

“You don’t think everyone fantasy shops from time to time?”

She had one hand on the door, but the notes of his voice made her pause. She looked back at him over her shoulder.

“Everyone sees things they want. It’s just not every day that we get to reach out and hold them.” His hand twitched, but he kept it by his side.

Marcie turned around. She couldn’t ditch him, not with a face like that. And not when he was being so sweet. But she still felt like there was a weight on her chest. She exhaled. “I only tried on the dress – and the shoes – because you were there. I kinda like you – I mean, I don’t even know you, but I like your… you know. I hate bothering people, but I wanted so much to…” Marcie looked down. She was rambling again. “To talk to you.”

Benedict just looked at her, his face completely open and vulnerable. It almost made Marcie feel less bad about pouring out her heart to him. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to sound like I was pressuring you into anything.”

She glanced outside. “That’s okay. I just don’t want you thinking I’m someone I’m not. It was nice to meet you, but I have to catch my bus.” Tugging the corners of her mouth up, Marcie glanced at him a final time and pushed open the door.


	2. Brocolli Charizard

It’s not that money was scarce. Working in a busy restaurant, she witnessed hundred-dollar bills flying out of people’s wallets every day. This was New York City, after all – some seriously rich-ass people inhabited this island.

It was that earning money was like squeezing the hell out of a giant orange and only getting a few drops of juice. _Why do I exhaust myself?_  Marcie sometimes wondered whenever she felt like a slave. Which was most days.

She knew that there were other ways to live. Sometimes, when she was forced to turn the heat off in her apartment, she’d do jumping jacks and fantasize about being a kept woman, sipping hot chocolate and brandy in front of fireplace, wearing stiletto slippers with mohair on the toes, having the luxury of forgetting what day of the week it was…

But everything had a price. And no matter how rough things got, she knew she would never be willing to trade her freedom for an easier ride.

It sucked sometimes – okay, most of the time – but she always kept one thing in the back of her mind: _I am doing this so no one else will have the power to tell me what to do._

Which led to why she hated talking about money: to admit that she didn’t always have enough meant admitting weakness. And admitting weakness instantly made her vulnerable. You couldn’t be vulnerable _and_ independent – you’d fall apart.

Vulnerability. A warm apartment. Being able to brush your teeth and not feel like you were doing the Cinnamon Challenge. All of them, luxuries.

A bus that came on time was apparently a luxury as well. Marcie shivered. As she waited, she tried to resist the urge to glance back down the road at the entrance to the department store – you know, in case _he_ had just stepped out. Or in case…

_No no no – he’s done with you. He was just being nice, that’s all._

She swallowed and felt like something was piercing her throat.

Longing.

_No – longing means I’m in need of something, and I don’t need anything I can’t already obtain on my own. Not a new dress, not a…_

Ridiculously hot British man?

_Absolutely not. Don’t put thoughts in my head._

The bus turned the corner and approached the stop. It was so cold and windy outside, she couldn’t wait to get on. She stamped her feet, partly out of impatience and partly to keep the blood circulating.

The bus driver opened the door. Marcie lifted one foot to step aboard, and…

She hesitated.

_God, don’t do it. There’s no rational reason to –_

She gave in. Her heart in her throat, she snuck a peek back at the department store entrance. In her fantasies, she’d have the courage to run back.

Her heart sunk down into the pit of her stomach. Stepping onto the bus, she chided herself. _What were you expecting to see? Get your head out of the clouds, Marcie. You have a shift tomorrow – don’t keep yourself awake tonight thinking… wishing…_

Fuck, someone on this bus had god-awful body odor.

“Marcie!”

Marcie’s ears perked up as the door closed behind her. That voice. She looked out the window and –

Oh my God, Benedict Cumberbatch was on the sidewalk. He was several yards away, holding his hand up in the air to distinguish himself from the flow of people. But he was there, looking right at her.

Marcie felt a jolt of adrenaline up her spine. How many other girls named Marcie could he possibly be calling to?

The bus lurched forward, sending Marcie off balance. She grabbed for a bar and looked at the driver. “Sorry, I need to get off, please.”

The driver ignored her.

Marcie panicked. Who did this dude think he was, driving young women away from Benedict Cumberbatch? “You gotta stop. Please.” Marcie’s cheeks burned at how high her voice had gone.

The driver huffed and shot her a Look. He slammed his foot on the brake and Marcie almost crashed into the window. “Make up your mind next time,” he said.

Ordinarily, that tone of voice would have made Marcie shrink inside. But as she flew off the bus and back into the slush, the cold and – oh God, that glorious wind – she felt like she was wearing armor.

Marcie didn’t know how it happened – maybe Benedict was running, or maybe they were both running or maybe she was floating – but, in what felt like half a second, they were standing in front of each other.

His curls were windblown and his cheeks were pink. His lips were parted and tiny puffs of fog escaped as he panted just slightly. Marcie wanted to look away – she knew her eyes would reveal the thoughts she wanted so desperately to keep secret – but at the same time she felt like it would be a crime to avert her gaze. She felt like a prisoner and, oh God, it felt so good it hurt.

Before she knew what she was doing, her hands flew to her bag to retrieve her water bottle. “Do you want some?” she offered.

A single laugh escaped him and he had only just begun to tilt his head. But his body language was overwhelming to Marcie.

 _Oh my God, he’s wondering why I’m offering him water. He’s going to think I drugged it. Or that it’s actually vodka and I’ve got issues, or…_ “I mean, since you were running,” Marcie spoke quickly.

He made a humming noise, raising one eyebrow. “ _I_ was running? Then why are you out of breath?”

Marcie’s eyes widened. Her mouth hung open as she tried to speak without stuttering.

Benedict laughed, his eyelids lowering only slightly. “We were both running. Are you so unaware of your own body?” He glanced down the length of her, his gaze resting somewhere in the middle.

Marcie’s breath caught in her throat. Was he checking her out? Even though she had her coat buttoned to her neck, she knew what kind of a curve her breasts made.

He reached forward, grasping the bottle… which was chest-height.

Oh. That’s what he was looking at.

“Thank you,” he said, lifting it to his lips and taking a polite sip. He handed it back to her, his gloved hand brushing against her own. He buried his hand inside his shopping bag. He drew out a wrapped package and presented it to her. “The dress.”

Marcie blinked, waiting for him to say more.

Nope.

 _Okay then. Wow, five points to Ravenclaw for being concise_.

Marcie felt herself shiver. It shook her from her reverie. _There’s no way he’s serious._ “I – thank you, but – I can’t accept this.”

“You can’t.” It wasn’t really a question so much as an affirmation. He put the package back into his shopping bag. Marcie breathed a sigh of relief, until –

He pulled out a smaller package. This he tucked under his arm, and held out the actual shopping bag to Marcie. “You’ll need these as well.”

Marcie gaped at the bag. _Why is he doing this for me?_

“The shoes,” Benedict supplied.

Marcie felt her heart squeeze. God, she wanted that dress. She felt her hands twitch. She remembered how soft the silk had been on her curves. How warm his hand had been on her shoulder when he’d shown her the shoes for the first time. _Why are you deliberating? Accept the gift, it’s only polite._

It would be so easy…

Marcie shoved her hands in her pockets. Yes, it would most certainly be easy. But what would be the consequences? In Marcie’s experience, gifts were rarely gifts (unless they were left by the neighbourhood stray cat, who never expected anything in return). And most human beings were rarely so generous.

His eyes were so gentle. His lips looked so soft…

 _He’s probably figured out I’m not exactly rich. Is he doing this out of pity?_ Marcie pressed her lips together – the wind was starting to dry them out. _I don’t need anyone’s charity._ “That’s very nice of you, but…” She exhaled, the fog of her breath carrying a silent goodbye to the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. "... No.”

Each of his features crumbled one by one. “No?” His voice sounded deflated.

Marcie instantly regretted her words. Oh God, what had she done? _Great job being an independent woman, Marcie. Only now you’re a face-crusher._

She took a step forward, her heart leaping back into her mouth. “ I meant –“ Her hands flew out of her pockets as she gestured.  “I don’t have anywhere to wear your gifts. They deserve to be worn somewhere special. If I took them, I’d just wear them around the house.”

The confidence returned to his face. “I couldn’t agree more. The lady who wears this frock should most certainly wear it for an evening out. And, dare I say, such a lady would require --” He raised his chin ever so slightly. “An escort on her arm.”

 _On_ her arm? Marcie gulped. More like _in_ her arms.

 _Chyeah. You mean, in your dreams._ They’d only just met, she couldn’t possibly be fantasizing about…

Marcie shivered again, gazing up at him. His cheeks were so pink. Despite the cold, he looked so warm. _I want to feel what he feels like._

She tried to wipe any sort of emotion from her face, just in case he was reading her mind right now like a woman scanning her scumbag boyfriend's browser history. She tried to reason with herself; everybody knows you don’t sleep with someone you just met. It says so in all those chlamydia pamphlets they have at the free clinic, right next to the basket of condoms in flavors nobody wanted.

Goddamn boysenberry.

Even if she did have the audacity to make some sort of sexually suggestive hint, she was 100% positive he’d turn her down. Who was she kidding? Marcie shook her head. “I don’t have one of those either.”

“You don’t have a lover?”

A lover. God, the word sounded so sensual coming from his lips. She noted how he chose to say lover instead of boyfriend. Boyfriend sounded so juvenile. Lover made it sound like he was treating her not as a young girl to be looked after, but as a woman who could look after herself. A woman who was capable of selecting a _lover._ “No, unfortunately, not at the moment.” Marcie wondered how fresh she might sound if she asked him if he had a lover. She tried to think of a way to ask it without sounding like a total cliché. She opened her mouth and hoped she sounded nonchalant. “The red scarf you were looking at. Is that a gift for your… lover?”

Benedict chuckled. “It is for one of the greatest loves of my life. My mother.”

Marcie’s shoulders curled in and she made the noise every female human makes at a time like this, which scientists believe is the sound of brain cells turning into gummy bears. “Aww!” So much for sounding nonchalant. Marcie felt her cheeks heat up. She ducked her head down to hide her embarrassment at her reaction.

Benedict outstretched his hand and pushed something into her personal bubble. Reflexively, Marcie wrapped her hand around it and didn’t stop to think about what it was until she was staring down at his cell phone in confusion. “What…?”

“If you could be so kind as to enter in your address, so your escort knows where to pick you up tonight. And –“ He smiled, turning his head to the side. “Your number, so I can ring you when I – he – inevitably gets lost.”

She could feel herself falling for his smile; her guard dropped down just long enough to let a laugh escape. “So I have an escort. What about the evening out part? Unless you – I mean, unless the escort wants to…”

“I promise you I’ll look after all the details. On one condition.” He paused, keeping his head slightly turned away from her but refusing to drop eye contact. Marcie lifted her eyebrows. It was like he was waiting until he got a reaction from her, until he knew he had her full attention, before continuing. He dropped his voice. “Can you promise me one thing, Marcie?”

His coy turn of the head stirred Marcie's dominant side. She straightened her back. “Maybe. What is it?”

He smirked at her. “That you answer the door wearing whatever is in that bag.”

“Even the wrapping paper?” Marcie spoke without thinking as her fingers tapped the cell phone screen.

He gave a firm nod. “Especially the wrapping paper.”

Marcie had to hit the backspace at least a dozen times, the screen casting a glow brighter than the darkening sky. She was too nervous, too excited, too shocked at her own behavior to keep her hands steady. _Don’t sleep with strangers – but feel free to give them your home address. Yeah, thanks, chlamydia pamphlets._

As she passed his phone back to him, he grinned at her and Marcie swore she saw a hint of wickedness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. _What is he thinking?_

Before she could dwell on it for too long, he turned his body and gave a little wave. “Happy Christmas,” he said lightly, as if they were acquaintances who’d bumped into each other.

 _I’m freezing my ass off in the middle of the street and yet I'll never be half as chill as he is. How does he do it?_ “You too.” Marcie lifted her trembling hand and tried to wave gracefully as he walked away.

She wanted so badly to keep her eyes on him as he was slowly swallowed by the flow of people, but she forced herself to break eye contact before he did. She used all her will power to keep her eyes straight ahead. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, a part of her was afraid that if she looked back, a force greater than her would sweep him away and leave her all alone again, standing at her bus stop in the cold like any other afternoon.

The wind picked up and she watched passersby tuck their chins into their collars. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the thumping of her heart. It felt good. She smiled through the darkness. On second thought, she wasn’t so cold after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Dec 29, 2014: I have some idea on how to continue this -- basically he takes her out to a restaurant and then they go back to her apartment -- but I'm not exactly sure on how to proceed. I want to keep the tone, pace, humor, etc. consistent in the next chapter and it seems to be eluding me. I originally intended for this to end in smut, but I'm just having trouble getting there while still keeping tension in the interactions between Marcie and BC. Anyways, I don't mean to ramble, I just wanted to provide an update -- I'm still here ;) my self-doubt fairy is just looming overhead, is all.


End file.
